


how to kill a prodigy

by ghostscribe



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Lance is lowkey a dad, No Proofreading We Die Like Men, One Shot, Suicidal Thoughts, Teen Angst, generally just about kids really not liking the spotlight and burning out real bad my dudes, idk how to break this one into chapters, oops i kept writing it and it got worse, so you get just a whole lot of words my dudes, this was supposed to be short, what the fuck how is this 10k words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-07-08 11:54:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19869226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostscribe/pseuds/ghostscribe
Summary: Maybe it's too much to call a child a Champion. Maybe she'll snap, too.(Or: the undoing of the champion Kris.)





	how to kill a prodigy

_Welcome to the Hall of Fame, Kris._

It should have ended there.

It didn't.

It should have ended there, and yet it continued for days, weeks, months. They started throwing around words like _gifted_ and _prodigy,_ and something in her gave way. The words were water to her metal heart, and she began to rust. It wasn't the way a locket slowly finds itself covered in sea mist and salt, no, it was all at once. She fell into - or perhaps she was thrown into - this spotlight, these great expectations they had for her, and with eight gym badges to her name, she had to consider what her next step would be, if such a thing existed.

She carried on, then, because she was expected to carry on. She traveled across the river between her world and the next, between Johto and Kanto. She traveled past the Indigo League and into Pewter, Cerulean, Vermillion, until she came back to the Indigo League with another eight badges, another month and a half of battling, another string of undefeated victories, and again, she was welcomed to the soundproof room at the end of her trainer's journey.

It should have ended there, at last, because there was nothing left to do, and yet it didn't end. It didn't end, and eventually, she came to realize why the silent prodigy snapped.

* * *

"You and him are a lot alike, you know that?"

"Mm."

The silence between them is deafening, though she doesn't think he hears it as clearly as she does. She takes another sip of her tea as he looks at her.

"You should be proud of yourself, you know. You've accomplished something amazing. You have the record for the fastest entry into the Indigo League to date, and I don't think anyone can beat you any time soon. Not to mention you came back for round two, huh? A kid like you comes once in a lifetime."

"Twice, if I'm like him."

He chuckles, as if she said that lightheartedly. "Well, twice. You're both so quiet, you know. You're a _little_ chattier than he was, though. The way you battle too," he adds to a thought he didn't fully say. "He'd do the same thing that you do. You're always looking a few steps ahead, so you can adapt to anything. How do you do it?"

"I just want to keep my Pokémon safe."

He grins and nods. "I can empathize with that. Dragonite and I have had that sort of bond since he was just a Dratini."

"He's grown into a strong Dragonite."

"He has - and you're well on your way."

She hums and sips the tea. She's not about to protest, but she does beg to differ.

She knows him, the boy Lance is comparing her to again today; yes, she knows Red. Lance isn't entirely wrong; they can be similar. In different ways, they keep to themselves, and through different means, they've invaded the Indigo League like a ghost awakening from centuries of sleep. Both came, saw, conquered, and had the unfortunate misconception that one final victory would be the end of the story. It _should_ have been the end. She should be at home, in bed, resting easy, and so should he, but they're both far away from the comforts of home.

The difference is that she can go home. Red can't; Red _won't._

"I wonder," she muses, more to herself than the dragon tamer, "if anyone else noticed that he didn't really like to be on camera."

"Oh, Red hated being on camera, we knew that. The only time he seemed even remotely comfortable around the paparazzi was when his so-called _rival_ was heckling him the whole time," Lance laughs a bit; and no, he never understood the weight of those moments. It's something she can never fully understand either, but she has her own insider's scoop on what it means to them. "They called each other rivals, but they were best friends. Red came by the Indigo League every day that Green was still the Champion to spend time with him. I always asked Green too, _aren't you worried he's trying to get a leg up on you?"_

 _"If anyone's gonna beat me anyway, it oughta be him._ Something like that, right?"

"Spot-on. I'm sure Green told you that, huh?"

"He did." A confession: she knows that quote not from the one who said it, but from the one who tore his crown off his head.

"Ah, those two could be a terror together, though." Lance's lighthearted grin starts to wither. "Having them stomping around and chasing their Pokémon was the most distracting thing, but now I'd kill to get a bit of background noise here at the Plateau. They made it lively." Pause. Then, "I hope he's still out there somewhere."

"I'm sure he is."

"I admire your optimism. He's been gone for so long, though. You know," he diverts quickly, fighting through melancholy, "it's good you've been keeping up with Green. I think he needed someone to distract him."

"Mm." Oh, she's no distraction. If he isn't talking about Pokémon, Green is talking about Red - well, _crying_ about him, more accurately.

"...I'm sorry, I don't mean to be such a downer," Lance apologizes. "The kid was just on my mind, and you're - well, we just over it, didn't we?"

"We're just kids."

"He was just a kid," mumbled softly as if she can't hear. "Yeah, I hear you."

"He is a kid."

"...you really think he's still out there, huh?" She just nods. "I'm glad someone has high hopes for him being alive," Lance confesses just above a whisper. "I hate to think that he's gone, but I'm losing hope myself."

"Don't lose hope. I'm sure he'll come home eventually." That's all she can offer. She made a promise.

"...Green really does need someone like you in his life right now. He hasn't been the same since we called off the search."

"He hasn't been the same since Red went missing."

"You met him awhile after that ordeal though, right?"

"I did. We talk, though. He tells me how he feels sometimes."

Pause. "You're so vague sometimes. Quite mysterious, you know."

It's a bitter string of words, but she cloaks it with a smile, a dot of honey in over-steeped chamomile. "So is he."

He chuckles. "That, he was. He only ever shared anything with Green. It was interesting watching them interact. He hardly spoke at all, but if he had anything to say, he'd just whisper it to Green, and _maybe_ Green would relay it to the rest of us. Sometimes they'd get so excited and caught up in their own little game of telephone that they'd forget about the rest of the world." Pause. "He was always an anxious boy, but Red seemed easy with Green. It's a shame about what happened to him."

 _It's a shame we let that happen,_ rather.

"Lance."

"Hm?"

"Who came up with the title _World Champion,_ anyway? What about _Prodigal Champion_?"

He shrugs. "Beats me. They just cropped up one day. He and Green were only registered as _Indigo League Champion_ in our official books."

"And yet, people never use that title. Do you think a child should take full responsibility for the most important cultural feature of the world?"

Lance is quiet for a moment. "What are you getting at?"

"I think the pressure got to him." And, she fears, the pressure is going to get to her any day now.

"Did Green tell you all this?"

"Yes."

No. The World Champion, a child, Red, told her all this.

"I see."

But no one can know that, because she made a promise.

"...you're a very peculiar girl for your age. You think too much."

"I've heard." That doesn't matter right now, though. "Green does the same thing."

"I've never noticed."

"He only ever shared that kind of stuff with Red."

"Say, if you ever find that boy, could you consider maybe... I don't know, bringing him home?"

"If he wants." She made a promise.

He narrows his eyes. "It's not a matter of _if he wants_ or not. He's been missing for over a year. If he's alive, at least bring him back to his mother. If no one else ever gets to see him again, she should have that privilege."

"And Green."

"I... I suppose. He did his best."

She's heard this argument a lot. She's heard Green shouting his voice away at his grandfather, watching one of his last family ties smoldering, going up in beautiful red _(red)_ flames. She's heard his side, and the professor's side, she's heard what the mother of the lost child had to say about who's at fault and who's not, and she's made her assessment of it all.

"Red didn't leave because of Green."

"No, of course - "

"And Red wasn't Green's responsibility. They were both kids. They still _are_ kids. Thirteen's not that old. Trust me, I'd know."

Pause. Then, "How much do you know about this situation?"

"A bit."

"Sounds like a lot more than a bit."

She shrugs. "I just know what people tell me."

"Seems like they tell you a lot."

"People tend to do that." She's often been a magnet for secrets and disclosures, like a priest in a confessional in the middle of a snowstorm. She's small, modest, she can offer little warmth, but a wooden box is better than the wind outside. With the claustrophobia comes pressure, with pressure comes a desire for release, and the words come flowing out. She's a communal diary of sorts, a harbinger of secrets. It's not a gift, not really a curse either, but a peculiar trait about her. She knows so much, sometimes things she doesn't even want to know, but she listens nonetheless, because often she finds she only knows how to listen. She doesn't always know how to speak.

Neither does Red, but Kris is not Red.

"You really are strange, Kris."

"I know." She's getting used to hearing her own name, from press conferences and international gossip. She resents her newfound familiarity with her own name. _May as well pick another name,_ she thinks. It won't matter if everyone calls her _the next Red,_ though.

"...what are you hiding, kiddo?"

Oh, plenty of things. "Nothing special. I don't talk about things if I don't think they're important."

That doesn't sate his curiosity though, so he presses on. "You're sure about that?"

"I am."

"If something is bothering you, you can tell me. Heck, you could tell anyone you trust. If something is making you feel bad, though, just don't keep it bottled up, alright? I can't tell you how many times I did that when I was your age."

"I think most teens do."

"It's not something they should do. It's not really good for you."

"I like to be private."

"So... So did Red," he replies, hesitating momentarily to bring him back up. "Green is like that lately, too, though. Maybe it is just a teenager thing."

"It is." There's a light drizzle starting outside, quietly filling the pauses in the conversation.

"Are you sure everything is okay?"

"I'm okay."

"Please be honest. Is it about Red?"

He's not giving up. "No."

"You're sure about that?"

She is, in fact, and she's also sure that Lance is projecting his own emotions onto her, a misplaced guilt, a letter to himself written on her skin.

"...not quite." And yet, that's not all there is.

"Tell me as much as you want." No answer. "Kris?"

"It's... It's - I'm just tired. I don't like this prodigy stuff people keep throwing at me."

Lance nods. "I know it's hard. He didn't take it very well either." _The next Red._ "What about it is particularly upsetting? Is there any way I can help?"

"Y'know what," and now she's backing out, because she's not Red, and she's fine, "it's fine. Don't worry so much about me."

"That's kinda hard to do, kiddo. You're so quiet that sometimes I worry you're gonna run off on me too."

"I won't." That's a promise. That's a vow.

"You do go missing on that mountain pretty often, though. What's so interesting up there?"

 _Red._ "Sneasel."

He chuckles, seeming to believe her. "Those little guys, huh? Are you planning on training one of your own?"

"Maybe."

"Dark types can be a bit of a hassle to work with, but I'm sure you can work it out. If you ever need advice, Karen is our resident expert, of course. I'm sure she'd be happy to help."

She nods, then silence fills the air. She wants to say it, she wants to tell him about something more than a handful of Sneasel, but she made her promise. She can't "find" Red. She can't disappoint him. She can never, ever disappoint _anyone_. She never set any precedent for herself, but now she's been called _prodigy_ and _champion_ and this stupid _next Red_ and it's weighing down on her quiet mind like a supercell hovering over her chest and threatening to drown her.

"Kris?"

"I'm just stressed."

"I see. What is this about, specifically?"

"It's -It's _everything_ about the prodigy thing." Her mouth is dry, but her eyes aren't. "It's a lot to live up to, and I don't - I'm not _Red,_ Lance. I wish they would stop saying that. I'm just - I'm me. I dunno if I'm ever gonna be as good as him!"

"Kris, you just need to do your best, alright? That's all anyone can ask of you." Lance's voice is gentle, soothing, a voice to fill in for the father she never got to have. "That's all anyone can ask of me, too, and sometimes my best isn't as good as it is on other days. If you find yourself floundering a bit, that's nothing to stay worked up about. Just take a few days to yourself and recuperate. One of the things that Green does wrong is that he's always pushing himself. He likes to keep busy, and I respect that, but he burns out so easily because he never gives himself a break."

"I see." She's not sure what else to say. She just needs the words to settle in her head.

"Kiddo, I don't expect you to be Red, okay? I'll stop bringing that up if that's what's upsetting you." She can only nod. "Take some time off if you need to, Kris. I don't want the pressure to break you down."

Oh, but it will. "Right."

"...are you feeling any better?"

"Not yet, but I think I'll be okay." At least that much is honest.

"Alright," he nods softly. "Just... don't do anything too brash, okay? Don't run off on me."

"I won't."

But she might disappear nonetheless.

* * *

"Being a teenager sucks."

"You've only been a teen for a few months."

"Yeah, and it sucks."

Kris sighs, but she can't protest.

"I guess. At least you can just be alone."

"Yeah." Pause. "I miss Green, though."

"Do you want me to go - "

"No!" Pause. "N-No, I'll... I'll handle it. It's fine."

It isn't fine, but again, she can't protest. She promised she wouldn't tell anyone he's here.

Kris sits next to Red on the summit of the mountain. He's blocking some of the wind from biting her skin, though most of it swirls around them like some cruel prankster's version of a blanket. It's not quite comforting, but there's some sort of comfort in her solidarity with the young champion.

No, not champion. He's just a kid. She hates that she even let that word slip back into her mind. She hates that either of them have ever been called _prodigy,_ and she hates that a word killed him.

"Did he talk about me today?" Red asks softly, barely audible over the wind.

"I didn't see him today. He was busy. Lance did, though." Pause. "I'm sure Green was thinking about you. He misses you a lot."

"I miss him too."

The wind blows snow into her hair. "You know, if you want - "

"No." Red is always so firm about this self-imposed exile, no matter what she's about to say.

"...I was going to say, if you'll let me finish," and he does, "that you could always write a letter, and I can bring it down to him."

"No," Red huffs more softly this time, less resolute. "Then he'd just look for me. He'd probably get mad at you for knowing where I am and not telling him sooner."

She shrugs. "I can handle mad."

"I can't."

"Well, he wouldn't be mad at you."

"Even though I ran away?"

"Yeah."

Pause. "I don't buy it."

"Well, I'm not selling it. I'm just telling you a fact."

"Assumption."

" _I've_ been talking to Green, actually, so I think I have more credence to say what's right and not."

Red sighs. The steam from his breath is carried away on the wind like a puff of smoke from a weak little Charmander, a lizard that's expected to become a dragon, a child that's expected to become a legend.

"You don't have to believe me, Red, but I'm right."

"Good for you." Ah, his tone dropped off. Time for monotone responses until he completely clams up, unless she's careful.

"Do you wanna go inside? I'm getting really cold."

"You can go."

"I don't wanna be alone right now." _I don't want you to be alone,_ rather, but saying that hasn't really changed his mind in the past.

"I wanna be outside, though."

"I don't." Red groans at her with as much annoyance as he can muster, which isn't much (not that it ever is). "C'mon, Red, let's go inside."

"Fine." He mutters something about _not even cold though_ under his breath, and she opts to leave that be. She hopes that's just teenage stubbornness, and not hypothermia.

The walk from the summit to the cave takes about twenty minutes, meandering through tunnels and outcrops until they eventually just end up where they need to be somehow. For as often as she's visited Red, Kris doesn't think she could find her way back here if she tried. There's an easier, less winding path from a lower face of the mountain, and she can navigate that, but - well, it doesn't matter. She'll never come up to the summit without Red.

"What have you been doing lately, besides trying to drag me back down there?"

Kris shrugs. "I've just been around. I take it you've been training."

"Yeah." Pause. "It's all just muscle memory, though. It isn't fun anymore."

"Yeah? What would be fun?"

"Shut up. I don't wanna go home."

"I didn't mean it like that." The way Kris sees it, he's lying to himself. He can't convince her, though, and they both know he knows that. She doesn't know why they're playing this game.

"...sorry."

"It's okay." Pause. "Has anything interesting happened lately?" she asks, just to fill the silence.

"Not really."

She can only talk so much, though.

She is like Red, in some ways. She's quiet, introspective. She doesn't know how to carry a conversation on her own, not without someone else to carry half the words for her, and even then, her contributions are minimal. She remembers her mother being particularly catty about that, something to the effect of _well you'll never make friends that way._ Even if she _is_ right (and while Kris hates to admit it, she kinda is), she'll make due. She'll make friends with people she clicks with intuitively. She's not about to become a performance for anyone.

Oh, but that's what being a Prodigal Champion is, isn't it?

It very much _is_ performative, Kris has learned. There's some flair that's expected of any champion, some semblance of theatrics in every move and every word and every battle. Oh, the battles, the battles are more of a performance than anything else. She wonders if a champion still qualifies as a trainer in the eyes of the general public, or if they're just a circus act. If she's truly a champion, then Kris is expected to make a perfect call every time. Every move must be a perfect move, any damage her team takes should be beautiful and dramatic, and every command she calls should be made with the smoothest confidence. She's supposed to be this way, this actress among challengers, a moon among stars, the world of Pokémon battles is a prom, and she's supposed to be the prom queen.

She's overwhelmed with it all, to say the least. Red straight-up _snapped_ because of it.

For now, Red is dead, and she's promised to keep it that way. While she can't be perfectly certain of what shattered him, she knows it was a mix of that attention and the traces of Team Rocket hanging in the air. She doesn't know if the idolization of the critique was too much, but she's sure that, as long as the paparazzi keep an eye out for him, he won't be coming home.

"Red."

"Hm?"

It takes a second for her to ask, but it's on her mind anyway. "Was the praise or the critique worse?"

"What do you mean?" he asks after a moment.

"I mean, with being champion."

"Praise. Praise is always worse." Pause. "It's harder to avoid. You're supposed to accept it. You're supposed to _want_ it. I just wanted to be left alone, a-and... There was nothing else I could do."

His hands trace the cool stone underneath them, tracing his only option when he hit the end of his rope. She fiddles with the rock fragments under her fingers.

"I guess I feel the same way. Especially about the _next Red_ stuff."

He huffs. "They gotta let that die. It's not like being me would be a good thing, anyway."

"Red, I don't even think they know you."

"Good."

Kris leans back against the stone wall with a sigh. "I just... I wanna be left alone too, you know? I don't wanna run away, but this is too much. This is a lot, and I'm over it. _Prodigal Champion_ my ass, a prodigy is always forgotten in the end anyway. I'm only gonna be impressive for as long as I'm better than kids my age. That's like, what, two more years max?"

Red just shrugs. "Dunno. I dunno where everyone is right now."

Naturally, since he lives on a mountain. "Green and I are probably the closest in skill to you. There's another girl from Sinnoh who's looking like she'll be pretty strong, too, but I don't know her personally. Dawn, or something."

"Hm. Let her catch up."

"Huh?"

"Let her catch up to you." Pause. "Then let her pass. You'll be out of the spotlight in no time."

Kris sighs. "I hope. I doubt Kanto will catch wind of a Sinnoh girl that fast, though."

"They caught wind of me."

"Green, too." The air is colder than before they started talking. "Jeez, it's freezing in here..."

"Sorry."

"It's not your fault," she assures him. He doesn't answer. "Lemme send Typhlosion back out to warm the cave up again, okay?"

"Sure."

"...are you okay, Red?"

"...sure."

She doesn't press him for more. She's not going to risk shutting him down again.

Typhlosion's presence quickly heats the room. She spurts low, hot flames from her back, letting Kris and Red run their fingers through her fur. If the atmosphere were any lighter, Kris would almost feel at ease. For now, though, she just feels lost. She's tired, mostly of all this champion stuff, but... could she say she's getting tired of battling? Is it just the notoriety that's killing her enthusiasm? How would she be able to tell?

"Red?"

"Hm?"

"Were battles still fun for you after you won the Indigo League?"

He thinks on it for a minute. "I stopped having fun when Green did."

"Ah." Pause. "Was it because he lost to you?"

"It's because Professor Oak didn't tell him he was proud of him in the month he was champion. He just yelled at him when he lost."

"Oh." Oh, she knows how they are, but, "That's kinda harsh."

"Mhm." Pause. "That was a mistake."

"Him yelling at Green?"

"No. I won. _That_ was the mistake."

"I see."

Nothing else is said. There's nothing else to be said.

* * *

"You're a fucking idiot, gramps!"

"Don't you _dare_ talk to me that way!"

She waits patiently outside the door. She listens to the yelling inside, because there's nothing else she can do.

"So what, _I'm_ the idiot for not wanting to be stuck in a lab all the fucking time? Do I _look_ like the kind of person who's gonna spend the rest of my life pouring over research?"

"That's always what the Oak family has been known for, Green. You know that! Your _father_ knew that, too, for that matter, before - !"

"Don't you fucking _dare_ go down that road!" Sometimes they fight about Green's parents. In the times she's heard them yelling about it, she still hasn't deciphered how they passed away.

"So, what now? Am I supposed to let our professorial lineage die when I kick the bucket?"

"Fuckin' - ask Daisy to be a professor! She's into that kind of thing!"

"Do you really think she'd be a good professor? I don't care how bright she is, she's a space cadet."

"Give her more credit, gramps. Girls can be professors too."

"That's not the problem, Green. The problem is that you're disobeying me _just_ to be contrary."

"I'm not doing anything wrong! I never even _wanted_ to be a professor!"

"So you're taking over Viridian City's gym instead? I wonder how long you think you'll last there. Will it be more than a month this time?"

"You don't think I'll make it? Go talk to Lance! He's the one who offered me the position in the first place!"

"How do you expect to be a decent gym leader, though? How does _he_ expect you to be a decent gym leader? You lost to Red in a heartbeat!"

"It was a month!"

"Felt like a heartbeat to me!"

"You never even _tried_ to check on me while I _was_ the Indigo League Champion! Of _course_ you'd think it was a heartbeat!"

"My point stands, Green! You're not suited to being a member of the Indigo League if you can lose that easily!"

"It _wasn't_ easy! Red's a hell of a lot stronger than anyone thinks he is! Gym leaders are _supposed_ to lose, anyway. We're not fucking gate keepers. We're supposed to prepare trainers for the Elite Four. Losing just means they're ready to keep moving."

"And you lost your standing there in a month. Do you really think you'd be a good benchmark for up and coming trainers?"

"I'd be better than _you!_ You haven't battled since before Daisy was born! You're almost twenty years out of practice!"

"And I have _never_ lost as horrendously as _you_ did, you - !"

"I _barely_ lost to Red!"

"And then you _literally_ lost him!"

"It wasn't my fault!"

Unfortunately, this is common.

Kris still stands outside, because there's nothing she could do at this point. This argument is just all over the place, because it can be, because Professor Samuel Oak can blame anything on his grandson and get away with it behind closed doors. She's tempted to out him one day, just record the yelling behind the door and anonymously send it in to some news station, but knowing them, it'd get all twisted up. She wouldn't stoop to that low, but _god,_ someone needs to either call Professor Oak out, or get Green the hell out of here. Professor Oak is just... _toxic_ is the word that comes to mind. He's poisonous when the curtains are drawn, when the cameras are off. He's so -

" - told you to take care of him, didn't she? And what did you do? What did you do?!" Green isn't answering anymore. "You let him run off on us, and now he's probably dead in a ditch somewhere! Who's fault is that? Huh? His mother tells you to watch out for him, and you let him run away."

That couldn't be further from the truth. Green chased Red until his Charizard couldn't fly any farther, and only then did Red disappear.

"And now he's probably dead because of you."

"It wasn't my fault." He's choking back tears, she can hear it.

"Then who's fault was it, Green?!"

It was nobody's fault. She hates to admit it, but if it were anyone's fault, it would be Red's fault for leaving in the first place. Even then, the blame is misplaced on a kid who's sick in the head. 

She hears Green sobbing through the door. It's not really a kid's cry, though. Something about it sounds more mature, more strangled, controlled. It's not a shrill bawl, not uncontrollable; it's too stifled, and it isn't the sound of a kid crying, and yet that's certainly Green's voice breaking.

"You couldn't even find him, either," the professor continues, and the former champion struggles to breathe under the weight of this guilt. "Four months of constant searching, and you didn't find him. You know that means he's probably dead, right? You killed a legend."

She breaks this time, under the weight of an empathetic rage. She bangs on the door a little too hard to be an innocuous knock.

"Who is it?" Professor Oak calls. His voice is fake, now, sterile and calm.

"It's Kris. I need to talk to Green."

"We're in the middle of - "

"I need to talk to Green now." Fuck it, she'll lie. "It's about some evolutionary research he's doing. I have some data he asked for."

There's a pause before the professor walks out, scraping the edge of the lopsided door along the ground. "It's awfully late for that, Kris. Shouldn't you be in bed?"

"It's a time sensitive thing," she bullshits. "Noctowl are nocturnal, you know."

He grins, a mask for her mask. "Oh, I do know. You kids do what you need to do, then head right off to bed, alright? Let me know if you need anything."

"Will do." With that, he leaves, and she locks the door behind her, leaves her mask outside. "Green."

He's standing in the middle of the room, covering his eyes with one hand, as if that would make him stop crying, as if ignoring the world will make it go away.

"Green?"

"What'd you wanna talk about?" His voice is cracking.

"I just wanted to check on you. I made up the research thing."

"Ah." He covers his face completely, sobbing breathily into his hands. "I _was_ doing fine."

She waits, but he says nothing else. "You know he's full of crap, right? It wasn't _anyone's_ fault. It sure as hell wasn't your fault."

"That's what I tried to tell him." His voice is clipping in and out, like Red's voice does. They're so close in that tiny moment, and yet they're so far away, and she can feel that distance between them, and it _burns._ "I should've said something, though. Red kept isolating, and it was a red fucking flag."

She edges closer to him, testing the waters, closing the distance. He either doesn't notice or doesn't care that she's approaching him.

"H-He kept disappearing for a few days, but he would always come ba-ack," he stammers, chokes on his memories. "Then he said he was actually leaving, and I tried - I didn't - I - I fucking - "

Now he breaks spectacularly, shouting through his tears, sobs racking his body, heaving for air that he can't get into his lungs, and all she can do is hug him and murmur useless reassurance. He's inconsolable like this, but she'll be damned if she doesn't do something for him, even if all she can do is hold him and say _he'll come back,_ even when she knows that may as well be a lie.

"I don't know what to do without him, Kris."

"I know." Oh, she knows. Green is a wreck without Red. Red's mother told her in passing, on a late night, when everyone's filters are a little weak, that Green laid in Red's room for days after they called the search off. It was a struggle even getting him to eat. He didn't know what to do without Red, and it seems he never will, at this rate.

Not like Red knows what to do without Green, though.

"I don't _wanna_ do anything without him."

"I know." Neither does Red, and yet he's still missing, presumed dead. She doubts Red is coming home until Green proves that he misses him so much it hurts.

"I..." Green chokes on a few words before he gets his thought out. "I'm gonna quit. I'm gonna quit being a trainer."

"Would that make you feel any better?"

"...no."

"Then don't." No answer. "If you think it'll help you somehow, you can, but I don't want you to do something impulsive like that." Silence still prevails. "Why would you quit?"

"It's not right without him. _Nothing_ is right without him."

She can't say anything to comfort him now. She hugs him tighter and hopes that's better than nothing.

"...Kris?" Green breathes after a long silence.

"Hm?"

"You oughta quit while you're ahead."

"Okay."

"A-And - Kris, please," and suddenly he's whispering with so much urgency, gripping her hands so tight that they feel frozen and numb, " _please_ don't run off on me too, okay? If the champion stuff is too much for you, just quit, okay? Th-That - that's what I mean when I tell you to quit. I can't - I - " and he's losing his voice in his tears again, "I can't lose you too."

"Okay."

And no, she's not just saying that to appease him.

* * *

And no, she's not just saying that to disappoint her mother.

Her mom drinks. She drinks too fast and says too much. She reminisces about days gone by. She likes to pretend she's still a trainer through the eyes of her daughter. Parents like this are not uncommon, no, but that doesn't make it any easier on Kris. It doesn't ease her teenage nerves, and it makes her want to quit even _more_. If anything, she's - okay, maybe it _is_ to disappoint her, just to be contrary, but Kris almost wants to quit just to spite her mother's drunken rambling.

"You just up and stopped training for him, huh? Huh?" her mother carries on, and Kris just sits and listens, sipping her tea. It smells much more appetizing than the whisky next to her. "You gotta keep up on that! It's not that hard!"

"It takes a lot more effort than you think it does," Kris answers. "I give two hours of personalized training for each of my Pokémon - "

"So two hours a day!" her mother concludes, falsely, as she does. "Two hours isn't bad at all! You probably spend that much time playing on that computer, don't you?"

Her jaw is clenched, she realizes. "I do research online, mom. It's not just two - "

Her mother just laughs, cutting her off, as if that was a joke, or maybe the alcohol just can't think of a way to answer that. "You're somethin' else, Krissy."

 _Krissy._ It was a cute nickname when she was five, but at this point, she just wants to be Kris. A part of her doesn't even want to be _Kris,_ though, a part of her wants to rename herself and hide this girl from the world, but she can't let go of herself. She can't run away in the way that Red did - hell, he didn't go so far as to change his name or scorn his entire identity. She just... she wants to be something else, someone else, or maybe she just wishes she never became who she is now, or maybe she wishes she could be herself without any pomp and circumstance.

"You're gonna be a real champion when you beat him, though, trust me. You've got some spunk!"

She especially wishes she didn't have her mother's misplaced grandeur.

"You realize," she starts softly, "that nobody knows where he is, right?"

"Well, when he comes back, you can battle him, and you can prove _you're_ the _real_ World Champion." Her mother takes another swig of her drink, sending this vile, rotting smell through the air. Maybe it's not as bad as Kris is making it out to be, but she resents this smell.

"Is that your only priority?"

"Well, you're my girl, Krissy. What else're you expecting?"

"I dunno," she says, trying to keep some ounce of innocence in her voice. "Maybe I'm expecting some more empathy for a boy who's presumed dead."

"Oh, I'm sure he's fine," she groans. "Kids run off all the time anymore."

They do, really, but, "That doesn't make it okay."

"What are you being so sensitive for?" she almost whines, a childish noise from an almost 40 year old woman. "I bet everything is fine! If he was really dead, we would've heard about it by now!"

"That's... kinda insensitive."

"Oh, you're just too sensitive."

She wants to dump her tea down the sink and go outside. Maybe she should dump the whisky instead. That's the real problem here.

"You're missing my point though," her mother continues, as if they can have a real conversation when she's this far gone. "You need to keep training. Two hours isn't bad at all!"

"Two hours, _per Pokémon,_ every day," she explains methodically, only with the key words her mother needs to hear.

"That's like a normal work day, honey."

"That's twelve hours."

"Oh, it's not that much more work."

_That's what you think, because you dropped out of the League._

She kinda remembers what happened, though it's blurry in her childhood memories. It was back when her father was still around, but there was some sort of falling out while her mother was trying to reach the Indigo League. She doesn't recall if it was anyone's fault in particular, or if her parents were just dysfunctional to begin with. She doesn't know what happened, but she remembers her father yelling on the phone, something about _I'm not raising this kid at_ all _if you're not coming home,_ and that was that. A part of Kris isn't surprised that her mother came home, and that her father left. A larger part of her is even less surprised that her mother turned to alcohol after that event. It's hereditary, apparently. Kris will never drink.

"You can handle that much training, though," her mother continues, and it must be the third time she's said that sentence; she starts talking in circles this late at night. "You were training 24/7 when you were on the road and getting all those badges, right?"

"No. I took breaks. It's not like - "

"You can still take breaks, but you can't slack on training. Whenever that boy comes back, you need to be ready to battle him."

"He might be dead, mom." Oh, she knows Red isn't dead, but she made her promise, and as far as she knows - as far as anyone else knows - he's a goner.

"He's not. Stop trying to get out of trouble. You're just being lazy."

"I'm tired, mom. I need a break every once - "

"Do you think _he_ took a break?" Oh, he certainly has, she's sure of it. "Do you think _real_ champions just take days off like that?"

"Ask Lance. He takes days off."

Her mother scoffs. "He just tells you that so you won't worry. You worry about everything! Act like a kid every once in a while!"

Act like a kid, work like an adult, fuck, what does she even want? "I am a kid. I'm - "

"Then act like it!"

"Then stop treating me like a battle machine," she almost yells. "I'm not gonna win you any trophies, mom. I'm my own person. You can't - "

"Well, you better win me _something,_ " she whines, again, _whining,_ "because you're the reason _I_ never got to the Indigo League myself! This wouldn't have been a problem if your father wasn't a deadbeat!"

"This _isn't_ the problem, mom. You're making it into - " and now Kris is almost going to cry, but she's cut off all the same.

"This _is_ the problem, Kris! You don't care anymore! You're a prodigy, and you don't even care!"

Maybe she doesn't, or maybe she just doesn't want to be a prodigy.

"That's so ungrateful, isn't it? Don't you see that? You _need_ to win, Kris. You're gonna be the next champion. You're gonna be the next Red!"

_I'm not Red._

_Oh my fucking god I am_ not _Red._

"The second that boy turns up, you had better go battle him. Battle him and prove to everyone that you're the next World Champion! They call you a prodigy for a reason, Kris!"

Her chest is aching.

"Think about your future, Krissy. Think about us!"

Her throat is tight. "You don't get to be a prodigy just because they say _I_ am. If you wanted to get as far as I did, you shouldn't have quit."

"That wasn't _my_ choice, Kris! That was because of you and your deadbeat father! We weren't even expecting you!" Oh. _Ow._ "All I'm saying is - is - "

"Is what? I'm just here to make you feel like you amount to something?"

"All you do is battle anyway! You don't have friends, you don't have any other hobbies, nothing!" As if she doesn't have Ethan and Lyra and Green, as if she doesn't research evolution and eggs and empathy in Pokémon. "You can _not_ be this lazy. You are a _prodigy._ You're gonna be the next Red, you hear me? I will _not_ let you quit being a trainer."

Something breaks in her.

"Try me."

Kris storms out of the house. She's proving her mother wrong. She's proving them all wrong.

"I'm not Red," she breathes to herself, her breath like fire on her tongue. "I'm not Red. I am _not_ Red."

She's not a fucking prodigy, she's not Red, and she's going to prove it.

* * *

"Battle me."

"What?"

"Now."

They're on the summit of Mount Silver, but this time, she's not sitting with him. It's either out of pure luck or muscle memory that she made it up here on her own. It's either genius or insanity that pulled her to this frozen world in the middle of a snowstorm, either self-sabotage or sheer willpower that urges her to stand on the summit in the wind, the prankster's blanket, and lay her request at the World Champion's feet. It's either wishful thinking or a hopeless endeavor that wills her to beg for a battle she knows she can't win.

Yes, Kris fully intends to battle Red, and she fully intends to lose.

"...right now?"

"What other _now_ is there?"

Red flinches at her tone, and now she's sure she sounds too harsh. "S-Sorry."

"Now, I'm," and she stops herself, just to gather her composure, "I'm sorry. I'm stressed, and I'm losing my temper. I just - we need to battle. Now."

Red stands up on shaky legs, certainly weak from standing out in the cold, or maybe from the sudden bout of anxiety. "I mean, we can battle, but..."

"But?"

"Why are you panicking?"

She looks at her hands. They _are_ shaking, but the wind is really bad right now. It must be that. It must be something else.

"I'm not. This is just important to me."

Red glances around the mountain for an answer, it seems, but no answer comes. "It wasn't before. I mean," he adds quickly, "I'm not saying I _won't_ battle you, but you're confusing me. What happened?"

"Nothing - no, everything happened, Red. _Everything_ happened. I beat the Indigo League _twice,_ and that's still not enough for everyone!" she shouts over the wind. "It's _prodigy_ this, _next Red_ that, it's always this stupid - !"

She breathes in sharply, cutting her throat on the air. Red has that look about him, this Deerling in the headlights gaze, and _god_ she needs to calm down.

"...Listen, Red," she continues more steadily, even though she still needs to yell over the storm. "It's not like this battle will mean anything to anyone else. I'm not about to tell anyone I battled you and lost. I'm not even gonna tell anyone I know where you are. I just need this closure for myself, okay?" she asks, begs, pleads, bargains for an escape. "I'm going to battle you, and I'm going to lose. I just need that, okay? Th-Then I'll go home."

Red is quiet for a few full minutes, processing what she's said, what he can say in return, what he _should_ say in return. "You can stay over until the storm passes."

"Okay." Okay. "Thank you." Pause. "So...?"

"Count us in."

Then it's on.

"Three..." and somehow her voice catches in her throat, as if this is the end of the world, as if Red's hand on his pokéball is a gun to her head -

"Two..."

\- but if this is where she dies -

"One..."

\- she'd be more than relieved.

"Begin."

And yet, there's a lag in between her _begin_ and the battle's true start, as if something isn't ready for this to happen, but Kris is more than ready to die on this god-forsaken mountain.

"Tyranitar, go," she calls, almost calmly, as Red leads with Pikachu, as he always says he does. "Earthquake."

She's not wasting any time, no, and she's not throwing the match. She's giving it her all, and she's going to lose, no questions asked.

As she anticipated, Red's Pikachu dodges the attack, running along the sturdier part of the mountain that Tyranitar can't even shake. He whistles for what must be _Surf,_ this funny move that a Pikachu shouldn't be able to learn, but Red is unpredictable, prodigal - no, he's a kid who made a weird decision with a weird move, and that's it, _that's it,_ they're just kids and this doesn't mean a thing.

Tyranitar manages to survive the hit, somehow. "Again."

Another _dodge_ whistle, and the earth trembles again, an even more powerful tremor in spite of her Pokémon's weakened state. Pikachu runs and - and he isn't quite fast enough this time, and the earthquake knocks him out in one hit, without so much as a squeak from the mouse.

That's a first. That's definitely the first battle Pikachu has lost.

Kris looks at Red, searching for an explanation, for any hint of a set-up, for any trace of _I'm throwing the match to you,_ but all she sees is shock and maybe a bit of anger. Good. _Stay angry. Beat me._

Red sends out Venusaur next, and before Kris can make her call, he whistles for _Giga Drain,_ and Tyranitar is down. The score is 5-5, perfectly tied. He can do this. She knows he can do this.

"Alakazam, Psychic!" Kris yells over the snowstorm, and Alakazam wastes no time. Red whistles for _Synthesis,_ maybe, because Venusaur seems to recover as much health as she lost just like that. "Again!"

It's already getting to be a blur through the snow, but she sees Alakazam's psychic energy knock Venusaur back. Red gives her the same whistle, but then she's back in her pokéball - of course she is, because he wouldn't let his starter faint so easily, nor would he have _let_ Pikachu faint so easily, but that must have been dumb luck, one lucky shot, that's all, it doesn't mean anything.

She isn't sure who Red will send in next, since he doesn't have any Pokémon that are strong against Alakazam, so she can't preemptively switch. Snorlax takes the field, though, which is as good a choice as any.

"Future Sight." Alakazam's eyes glow bright through the gales of snow, and the air seems to vibrate with psychic energy. Two turns to go, then all hell breaks loose. Red whistles for _Giga Impact,_ and Snorlax rushes her psychic Pokémon, knocking him into the snowbank. Alakazam isn't legally frozen by the attack, but he may as well be with how cold he must be.

"Recover." Maybe she's just stalling, or maybe she's trying to win, she's not sure. She - Kris has no clue what she's doing, what she's thinking. She's just watching this battle play out, letting it happen. She's not afraid of losing, after all. If this is where _the next Red_ dies, that's fine. Let this mountain turn into a graveyard.

Red whistles for something similar, _Body Slam,_ and with that, Alakazam is down for the count, too. She spaced out somewhere in there.

"Typhlosion," and now her starter is on the field, the Pokémon that offers the two prodigies ( _prodigy -_ fuck that) heat in this windswept land. "Focus Blast."

Red whistles for another dodge, but Typhlosion easily outruns Snorlax, and she lands her hit. Kris feels far away when Red whistles for _Rest._

"Hyper Beam."

Snorlax is recovering her health, but Red's expression is nothing short of panicked; in the moment it takes Typhlosion to build up her attack, the fainted Alakazam's attack bombards Snorlax and negates any regeneration Rest gave her. One Hyper Beam is enough to completely knock her out.

4-4, in neither favor. She's getting impatient.

"Don't you _dare_ hold back on me," Kris yells across the snow. She almost feels hot.

"I'm not!" Red shouts back, and she hates to admit it, but he sounds like he's being honest.

Red is going to send out Blastoise, so she swaps Typhlosion for Ampharos - no, Espeon, Red has Espeon on the field, and Kris isn't even sure what that whistle is until the dirt hits Ampharos. _Mud Slap,_ it seems, but it's not the best ground-type move around, so Ampharos is more or less in good shape.

"Thunder Punch." _Psychic,_ that must be it, because he's realized trying to cover electric types with an Espeon isn't a great strategy - oh, so he realizes that now, as they're battling, as if he's _not_ a prodigy, as if the label was as much of a fluke on him as it is on her.

The electricity and psychic energy collide, sending shockwaves through the air, tracing tessellating patterns in the snow around their feet, memoirs of a battle that get swept away by the wind in an instant, prodigies that disappear like leaves in autumn.

Another _Psychic_ whistle resounds, and she realizes she missed a turn. She can't throw the match. She needs to prove that she can - she _will_ \- lose.

"Return!" she calls, and that does a good enough amount of damage that Red calls Espeon back himself. She's done guessing what his next move will be. "Suicune, come out."

Red's hands flutter between two pokéballs; Pikachu, fainted, in one, and Venusaur, weakened, in the other. Charizard is weak to water, Blastoise can't cover his own type, Espeon just got called back, and Snorlax is down for the count.

...Red actually isn't in the best position to battle Suicune, is he? Is this cheating?

He opts to send Venusaur back out, and the _Synthesis_ whistle comes again, so that's fine, she'll play his game, she'll stall. "Blizzard," as if they needed more snow up here.

Suicune unleashes all hell with one cry. The wind is screaming, the snow is clinging to her cheeks, her eyes feel like they might freeze over, and yet she almost feels warm. Maybe it's the heat of the battle, or maybe it's anxiety, fear, something nasty in her stomach that she's trying to ignore. Whatever it is, it keeps her warm through Suicune's onslaught of ice.

Red whistles for _dodge, Giga Drain_. Fine. "Hyper Beam."

Venusaur had enough of a head start to get out of the way, and everything goes according to his plan. Venusaur saps the energy from Suicune in a burst of green light, and her legend cries out for help, for the perfect call, the perfect move, it's all a performance anyway, but there's no audience up here.

There's no audience here, and yet, she's still expected to reach perfection. Maybe that's just her. Maybe she's about to break. With pressure comes a desire for release.

"Come back," she calls, because this is a losing battle, and _god_ she wants nothing more than to lose, but she's going to prove that Red can defeat her when she's doing her absolute best. "Typhlosion, Flamethrower."

Another whistle comes over the blizzard winds this time; _Toxic,_ perhaps. Venusaur manages to poison her starter before fainting under the heat of the flames. Hopefully that feels nice in this weather.

Red sends Blastoise out, and Kris holds her ground with Typhlosion for now. "Hyper Beam."

Bad call, bad show; _Surf_ rings through the cliffs and nearly faints her starter. _Now_ it's time to swap.

"Ampharos," and - again, Red isn't in the best condition to cover an electric type, so this is - this looks bad for him, but he can do it, he can do it, _he's a champion, he can do it,_ "Thunder."

 _Blizzard,_ again, and now she feels like she's _literally_ going to die out here. She should've gone for Thunder Punch, maybe, or - no, it doesn't even matter, Blastoise is unconscious after the electricity surges through him.

...what's the score again?

"Come back," and fuck it, _fuck it,_ maybe she'll throw a move or two, she'll give Red a chance to catch up, because this is looking bad. "Gengar, go."

Red switches in for Charizard, thankfully, instead of Espeon, so she doesn't have the advantage for at least this turn. Red's whistle is _Flamethrower,_ she thinks.

"Shadow Ball!" That's the only attacking move Gengar knows: the rest are status or gimmick moves. The shadowy orb launches into the onslaught of fire, and Gengar is in worse shape than Charizard at the end of the haunting fireworks display. "Again!"

Red's whistle is _Fly_ this time, and Gengar's attack misses the dragon; his Charizard is faster than Green's, Kris recalls. What to do, what to do... something easy.

"Perish Song." If Red switches - and he often does - that'll do nothing. She's throwing the match. She's throwing the fucking match and it's not going to mean anything.

Charizard zooms back down from the sky, slamming into Gengar with enough force to knock him down and out. She's down to three Pokémon, now, one of whom isn't doing all that great. Honestly, though, even Typhlosion could cover Charizard at this point.

"Typhlosion," she calls, because she has yet to test this, "Hidden Power."

It's an odd move, she has to admit. It changes type depending on the Pokémon's individual strengths, and if her research is correct, Typhlosion should manifest Hidden Power as a rock type move.

...and Charizard is four times as weak to rock as anything.

The move collides with Charizard, and he faints, falling out of the air and into the snow, into the ice, into what must be his first knock out in a long, long time. When's the last time Red actually battled anyone? When's the last time someone got this close to beating him?

When's the last time Red _lost?_

"Red - " she calls, as if he could answer her thoughts, as if they're already on the same page.

"Shut up." His tone is indiscernible. He sounds anxious, but she doesn't know if that's what it is.

Espeon is on the field, and he whistles for something she doesn't recognize, a call he never told her about. Maybe she has too much of an advantage, knowing his moves, his battle style, or maybe she is this good _there's no way -_

"Flamethrower," but the flames bounce off a shield of light - _Reflect,_ that's what that move is. "Again!"

 _Psychic,_ and Espeon dodges first, so the second set of flames is as useless as the first. Espeon's Psychic seems even more powerful than usual, as if -

_Psychic!_

That isn't anxiety. That's desperation. That's the call of someone fighting a losing battle.

Which means -

"Dodge!"

That means -

_Again!_

"Hyper - no, Flame - no - " Typhlosion opts to use Hyper Beam. Typhlosion opts to finish the battle for her trainer.

It happens all at once, beams of pink and white dancing around each other like a lethal valentine, an overwhelming screech of energy on energy, a roar and a growl, snow, snow, cold, a realization, something new and terrifying and _wrong,_ everything falls apart in that final moment of desperation, because if Red is desperate, that means he's losing, and if he's losing, that - that means she's -

The snow clears. The wind is nearly dead. The ice is melted around the two Pokémon. Espeon is unconscious. Typhlosion is not.

That means Red lost.

That means Kris won.

Kris beat Red, and she can already feel eyes on her from below the clouds.

Oh god.

_Oh god, no._

"...Kris?"

"No," but she's barely audible, her words are stuck in her throat, she's quieter than Red, "No..."

No. No. This - no. This isn't what she - this isn't how this was supposed to go. She came here to lose. She came here to prove to herself that she's _not_ a prodigy, she came here to kill the pressure that's killing her. She's not _the next Red._ She's not - she didn't come here to win, she didn't come here to prove everyone else right, she didn't come here to confirm her own fears and destroy her own childhood innocence with involuntary victory, no, _no -_

"No, no, no, no..." She might be crying. She can't tell. Her mind is in overdrive. She didn't want this. She wanted to lose and call it quits and go home and go back to being a normal kid, but she won, _she won,_ _I won,_ that _was the mistake,_ she came to kneel at the World Champion's throne and she stole his crown instead.

"Kris?"

She's not strong enough for this. She's not strong enough to handle the attention. She can't handle the pressure, the cultural responsibility, the spotlight, the _throne,_ she can _not_ handle the weight of the world expecting her to be perfect when she's _just a kid -_

"Kris."

Red couldn't handle it either, but she sure as hell can't do this.

Red is kneeling by her, now, trying to calm her down. She can feel him here, but she can't move. She's frozen, literally and otherwise.

"It's okay, Kris."

Nothing will help. She won.

"Kris..."

"Don't tell anyone I won."

It's all she can manage to whisper.

"Okay," Red whispers back, but her mind doesn't even process his answer.

"I don't _wanna_ a champion!"

Oh god, she can yell.

"I don't wanna be you! I don't wanna be a prodigy, I don't wanna be famous, I don't wanna be a champion, I don't even wanna _do_ this anymore, I don't - I - "

She's just a kid. She's a _child._ The pressure is already too much for her, and -

" - I don't wanna fall apart like you!"

That's mean. It's insensitive and cruel to say something like that, but she means it somewhere in her heart. She doesn't like the spotlight either. She knows she'll snap, she's already halfway there, and she doesn't _want_ to snap. She wanted to lose, and prove she can lose, and just be done with the prodigy shit so she can go back to being a child, but she won, she's the fucking World Champion now and she doesn't want to do this and _maybe I don't have to do this if I jump -_

Oh god. That's a dark thought. That's enough to snap her out of her hysteria. She looks up, and Red is just... looking at her.

"Red, please," she begs, "please just lie and say you won, _please._ I can't do this. I," and now she's just saying anything, it seems, _with pressure comes a desire for release, and the words come flowing out,_ "I know you hate being the World Champion, too, but I - I literally can't do it, Red, I'm already losing it, I can't - I don't wanna - "

"What are you talking about? I _did_ win."

The relief hits her harder than the hail did. "That's our story, then." He nods. "...I'm sorry. I-I can't - "

"It's okay. I already snapped anyway."

Then the guilt hits her. _I don't wanna fall apart like you_ hurt him more than she can ever know, she's sure of it. "Do... _Do_ you want me to take the title? D-Do you wanna be done with it?"

"No. I want you to turn out better than I did." Silence. Then, "Are battles still fun for you?"

"I... no."

"Then quit."

And she does.

* * *

"Sorry."

"It's okay, Kris."

That's all she's been able to say to Lance in the past half an hour. The rest of the noise in the room has been rainfall and her own quiet sobbing.

"Can you tell me what happened?" he asks gently, still rubbing her back, soothing her in the way neither of her parents ever would. " _Did_ something happen, or are you thinking too much?"

Oh, did something fucking happen. "Kinda."

"Tell me about it, Kris."

She can't. She made a promise, but Red is at the heart of her undoing, both the curse and the blessing, the assassin and the savior. He's the reason she's crumbling and the reason she won't truly rot. He lost, and he's lying about it, and that's keeping her out of the spotlight, out of his shoes, he's continuing to wander through his own icy hell because _I want you to turn out better than I did,_ and she can't explain _any_ of that.

"Kris, please."

She mouths the words she wants to say a few times, testing the waters, searching for her voice. It finally comes out coldly.

"I don't wanna battle anymore."

"Really?" It's not incredulous nor condescending, but earnestly concerned, confused. "What makes you feel that way?"

She lets out a shuddering sigh. "It's not a feeling. This is it."

Pause. "What do you mean?"

She looks him in the eyes and makes her case. "I quit."

It's raining again today. Nothing else is said for a moment.

"Kris," Lance hums quietly, steadily, "have you thought this over?"

"I've been thinking this over for months."

"I see. What lead you to this decision today?"

She undersells it as dramatically and cruelly as she can. "I just won a battle, and I wasn't happy."

He nods, though he still protests gently. "Why weren't you happy?"

"It's stressful."

"Do you think taking a break would benefit you more than quitting altogether?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

This is mean, too, it's insensitive and cruel, but she says it anyway. "Do you want me to end up like Red?"

She sees a piece of him shatter with those nine words, nine words about a boy nine thousand meters above sea level. "Are you afraid that'll happen?"

"It _will_ happen."

His lips start to move as if he has something to say, but no words come out at first. He just hugs her, and she hugs him back with the desperation that only a lost child could muster up. "I'm so sorry."

 _It's okay,_ but she can only get a fraction of a syllable and half a sob out. She's just a kid.

"You can step down. I'll still be here for you if you ever need anything." She nods, but that's all she can manage. "I'll get the database organized by this afternoon, trust me. It only takes a few minutes. It just... god, I didn't realize..."

No one did, it seems. Even she didn't realize how bad she was until she won.

No, no. She lost. She battled Red, and she lost. That's their story.

"Do you think everyone'll let me go?" she asks, forces the words out of her throat.

He hesitates. "I'm not sure, honestly. We've never had a champion resign for anything other than old age. Let me - look, Kris, I _promise_ you, though, if _anyone_ starts giving you a hard time, you come to me, and I'll take care of it. Your well-being is worth more than anything."

"Call me Crystal." That comes from some deep recess in her mind, some subconscious desire, _may as well pick another name_. She feels Lance give her an odd look, though she's still hiding her face.

"Crystal?"

"Yeah. Maybe if I change my name to something flashy enough, people will stop calling me _the next Red_ for once."

"I see." He doesn't sound like he _does_ see, but he's accepting nonetheless. "It suits you."

"Thank you."

She is not Red. She is Crystal, and she is not a prodigy.

**Author's Note:**

> also known as _prodigies don't do well under pressure_
> 
> i've noticed a trend among my other friends who were gifted kids; we basically all came out of our respective "gifted programs" with depression/anxiety/a plethora of just bad vibes and feeling like we fell short of everyone's expectations, even if we were actually exceeding expectations - which especially for me was even worse. if you're better than you thought, you have to keep that up. i bet a child champion feels about the same - worse, even. 
> 
> so this is an extended headcanon on Kris, Red, and general vibe of things between Red's disappearance and his discovery. it's also a bit of a vent piece, i suppose
> 
> a note on the Viridian gym situation: i headcanon that there was a time between Giovanni and Green where the Viridian City gym was being led by Karen or someone for awhile, while Green was still too young to have taken the position. after the E4 got rearranged with the GSC crew, Green gets the position (not without some fighting Prof Oak though rip)
> 
> sidebar: i have a tumblr [@red-sterling](http://red-sterling.tumblr.com) now, if that interests anyone
> 
> (this description is a fucking mess but its 7am and all of this was written in a fit of depresso passion okay)


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